


Black Coffee

by starluff



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, Community: watsons_woes, Gen, I love Black Coffee, I was inspired by music okay?!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 13:23:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3448727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starluff/pseuds/starluff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And drown my past regrets // In coffee and cigarettes</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> This was written from one to two weeks ago, because I fell in love with the song Black Coffee and I wanted to write something inspired by it. I was going to edit it before now, then I got swamped by school work so yeah that didn't happen. But better late than never, am I right? This, and the subsequent chapters, are all my entries for Challenge 27 on Watson's Woes. It is also my first attempt at a drabble. Hope you enjoy!  
> Edit: So apparently my first attempt at a drabble was an utter failure because I passed the word limit XD idiot ^^" Ah well. Hope you enjoy it anyway!

The cup was made of porcelain; it felt soft and smooth under his hand. There was a floral pattern on the outside, the painted pictures made low bumps on the otherwise flawless surface. Watson closed his eyes as he ran his thumb along the surface, trying to picture what was painted in his mind. The cup soon became too hot, though, as the heat of the liquid it held seeped into the porcelain. Watson left his thumb there as it burned. His other hand held his lit cigarette, his fourth one of the hour, and he put it back to his lips. He took a drought of that, felt the smoke enter his lungs, filling him with warmth. He held in the heat for a moment, then blew it out, watching the smoke curl and dance lazily in the still air. Watson put the porcelain cup to his lips, feeling the heat emanate from the thick, black liquid. He blew into the liquid, then took a tentative sip. It was just about uncomfortably hot. He took a larger gulp next, felt the thick coffee attack his tobacco-deadened senses, assaulting his mouth and nose. The heat was enough to burn, the coffee strong enough to make you forget any other flavour; like a strong bellow amidst low murmurs. Watson swallowed and he felt the liquid go down his throat, could feel it as it went down his esophagus, slowly moving down until it reached his stomach. Watson put his head back onto the head rest, listening to the swinging pendulum of the clock hanging on the wall. How much more until the day was over? He wondered as he put the cigarette back between his lips. This day was lost to him, his leg aching as it was, but perhaps the next day would hold more promise. Maybe tomorrow, his leg wouldn't hurt. Maybe his sleep that night would be pleasant and undisturbed, giving him a peaceful night. Maybe he would wake up and his health would be restored, and he could make new friends and acquaintances with whom to pass the time until he could save up to buy a practice.

And perhaps he would wake up and find out that the war never happened and his old friends are still alive and well. That Frederick did get to marry his sweetheart, and James would shock them all by making his dream of becoming an astrologist a reality.

Watson cleared his mind and took a large gulp of his coffee.


End file.
